


Dear Miss

by moonsmoocher



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Epistolary, F/F, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Romance, Trans Female Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-22
Updated: 2021-02-22
Packaged: 2021-03-12 09:49:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,903
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29632815
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moonsmoocher/pseuds/moonsmoocher
Summary: Annette and Bernadetta are pen pals after they met. forging a lifelong bond through plants, shitty dads, and a lot of postscripts. But unknown to the other, they harbor feelings about each other and their first kiss at bible camp.
Relationships: Annette Fantine Dominic/Bernadetta von Varley
Comments: 6
Kudos: 23





	Dear Miss

**Author's Note:**

> Content warnings  
> -references to parental abuse

Bernadetta vibrated with nervous energy. This was it, the _first_ letter from her _first_ friend. It was in her hands. The narrow, precise cursive read _Bernadetta Varley,_ above her address. She had to hide the envelope from her dad, but it was worth it. _Her_ first piece of mail.

She sat under her bed covers, with a little flashlight she used to read late at night, even though the scorching summer sun filtered through the hot blanket was enough to read by. Sweat dripped off her messy hair, the result of another attempt by her dad to keep her hair short. At least he was sober this time and used scissors, so it wasn’t too bad.

The pen she used to write her own stories clutched in her other hand, she carefully tore the top of the letter envelope. Inside was one piece of folded paper, and something else. In order to draw out this moment, she left her curiosity burning and unfolded the paper slowly and gingerly, like it might shatter if she let even a smidge of the urgency she was holding back through the dam of her self-control.

The stationery was blue and green and yellow, roughly arranged into what might be considered a landscape if it was in focus. Faded out under the writing was some green and yellow and brown that could be a sunflower. Bernadetta smiled. This was _just_ like Annie.

> _Dear Miss Bernadetta Varley,_
> 
> _I hope this letter finds you safely. You know how much I was scared about using your name!! But you also know how important it is to me to make sure you’re, like, YOU. So, if things didn’t go well, I’m sorry!!!_
> 
> _BERNIE’S DAD, IF YOU’RE READING THIS, YOU’RE A BIG JERK!!!!!_
> 
> _Anyway, with that out of the way, I don’t really know what to write in a letter that we didn’t already talk about at bible camp. Did you get home okay? It’s probably been like a month by the time you get this or whatever, but I’m writing this the night I got home. It’s probably hot as heck. Please stay cool and drink water!! That’s what Mercie tells me. I hope you can meet her someday, I know she’d love you. And if she doesn’t, then she won’t get any more cookies from me!!! (I’m laughing like a bad guy here but I don’t know how to write it down)_
> 
> _The weirdest thing about writing a letter, actually, is that we’ve probably called each other a bunch by the time you get this. I wonder if future Annie has said some spoilers about what I’m including. But there’s something nice about sitting down and writing this by hand. My hand’s kinda cramping but you’re so worth it Bernie!!!_
> 
> _Let me know if you see any cool plants. Well, you might have already told me on the phone, but tell me again. Tell me all about them. I wanna visit someday and we can go hiking and find new ones, or go to a park and look at flowers, or just like, go to a zoo and see the different plants they have for all the animals. I think that would be SO FUN!!!_
> 
> _You might have already seen it, but I’ve also put in one of my pressed flowers. This one is a purple pansy. Mercie tells me that historically pansies are meant for thinking about people. And I’m thinking about YOU. It’s also the only flower I had ready to send. I thought it was cute!!!_
> 
> _Your friend forever!!!_
> 
> _Annette Dominic_
> 
> _P.S. I don’t have anything to actually say here but I’ve always wanted to put a P.S. at the end of something… so I did!!! hehehe_

Bernadetta finished reading the letter Annie sent with tears running down her face. Her cheeks hurt from smiling so hard. She wiped her nose with the ratty shirt she was wearing. It hadn’t been a month since she arrived home from Our Lady’s Faith and Friends Outdoor Camp, more like two weeks, but she _had_ called Annie a few times. Phone-Annie had not spoiled letter-Annie’s surprise but she talked about it a bunch. Part of her wanted to just leave the flower in the envelope, to save the surprise for when there was a hard day with her dad and she needed a pick-me-up, but Bernadetta wanted to see, _needed_ to see what Annie had been so proud of.

More sweat than ever dripped off her hair. She hugged one of her stuffed bears with her free arm and looked inside the envelope.

Sure enough, there was a dried flower inside. The pansy inside was mostly purple, but in a light ring around the center of the flower was some yellow. It wiggled in her hands because she couldn’t hold them still from excitement. Bernadetta thought that this might be the coolest thing she’d _ever_ got, in her entire life, because it was like a plant but it wouldn’t wilt or die or anything, unlike her half-hearted attempts to keep some flowers in the little pots on her windowsill. Maybe she’d put more effort into doing it again. Sending a flower back to Annie one day would be really fun.

In a flash of inspiration, she knew what she would write back, and more importantly, what surprise she would include. She’d never seen one in real life, but she’d seen plenty of photos and technical illustrations of carnivorous plants. Bernadetta could draw her one of those! Maybe the famous Venus flytrap would be too scary (or hard) so a pitcher plant? There were a lot of very pretty pitchers out there, and some of them were actually easy to draw, and she wanted to draw something really nice for Annie, something that showed her how much Bernadetta loved these weird little plants, and how much her friend meant to her.

* * *

It was a cold winter morning when she checked the student services office to pick up her mail for the previous week. She saw the envelope sitting in her cubby and immediately her fingers started to tingle in anticipation, her pulse quickened. A letter from Bernie was one of the few things she looked forward to under all the pressure to perform at this stupid prep school. She was always tired, but a Berniegram, as she liked to call them, gave her a full week of energy. She couldn’t always find the time to call her when she wanted, but she had a little box she kept of all of Bernie’s letters that she read when she was particularly ready to crumble under stress.

As she dashed back to her dorm room, Annette felt like she could fly. It had been a particularly gruelling week with midterms and finishing it on a Berniegram was about the best thing she could think of, except maybe some of Mercie’s fresh bread… but only just a _little_ bit better. She could always go back to a Berniegram, but Mercie’s baking swiftly disappeared between the two of them.

Annette slammed the door behind her when she entered the dorm she shared with her best friend. “Hey! What did I say about slamming the door?” Mercedes said, groggy, from under her covers.

“I’m sorry, just really excited. Guess what I got in the mail?” Annette asked, her enthusiasm unable to be dampened.

Mercedes sighed, knowing exactly what was going to happen in the next five seconds. “There’s only one thing that gets you like this. It’s a—”

“BERNIEGRAM!” Annette shouted.

“Annie, _please_ , it’s before noon, don’t wake the dead.”

“Aww, you’re such a spoilsport.” Annette said, sticking her tongue out at the bed. Mercie would box her ears if she knew, but she was safe from this angle.

“I’m a spoilsport who has a date tonight and is very tired. Just keep it down, okay?” she replied, a dangerous flat note that Annette knew preceded when Mercedes got really, genuinely upset.

“Fine, sorry. When do you want me to get you up?”

“Syl is picking me up at six so… three?”

“Gotcha. Have a nice nap,” said Annette, but she knew Mercie was already fast on her way to sleep again.

Annette tried her best to keep her hands from shaking. This envelope was quite a bit thicker than the usual Berniegram. She got out her box of old Berniegrams which she kept under her bed and fished the letter opener from the bottom. Earlier this year, Annette purchased a proper letter opening knife to keep her growing mass of paper as neat as she could, since a lot of the early envelopes were opened in haste and the rough edges took up precious space. Addressed in painstakingly neat capital letters to ANNIE DOMINIC, the envelope opened easily under the knife.

> Dear Miss Annette Dominic,
> 
> Thanks for the field guide! It’s a little cold to use my cool birthday present from my cool pen pal, but I’m really excited to go on a hike in spring with it. I’ll be sure to sketch anything really interesting for you, as always.
> 
> So, to get the obvious stuff out of the way, because you _know_ I understand, my phone is always open. Berniebear is always, _always_ here to talk shit about our dads.
> 
> Well, maybe not get it _all_ the way out of the way. Sometimes I think Dad has, like, a tap or something on my phone, so this is MRCDS-Level Confidential (meaning you can tell Mercie), but he and Mom are in talks to split finally. God, that feels good to write out. He’s been better this year since he’s off the sauce but, well, you know. Hard habits to break. I wish I didn’t love him. That’s also a habit that I should break. Sorry for the bummer but I needed to tell someone.
> 
> How’s the science stuff going? This should arrive just before or right after midterms for you, I think, so if you’re sick of it, you don’t gotta tell me anything, but you know I love listening to you talk about… stamens and pollen and root systems and stuff. X^D Okay, I know it goes over my head, but I really do love listening to you!
> 
> Sooooo you might notice this envelope is a little thicker than usual. I included a copy of my newest short story, _Moonbeams Are Lonely Too._ I might be published in the lit club this year!! Maybe. Well, they say they want to publish short fiction but no one ever submits anything so I might just get in by default. But it would be soooo cool if someone else puts something in so I can show my bestie how good of a writer I am. B^)
> 
> I really miss you. Hope I can get up there this summer to see you. Tell Mercie I miss her huge bread loafs. ;^)
> 
> Love ya,
> 
> Your girl Berniebear
> 
> _ps tossing in a pic cuz you love them. Ignatz is there too. think he still has a crush on you lol. you gotta break it to him your gay some day because I will NOT touch that hornets nest_

Annette took out the other bundle of papers and a polaroid slipped out of one end. Bernie had finally gone through on her threat to dye her hair purple, no doubt encouraged by Ignatz, who stood next to her with neon green hair. Purple looked _so_ cute on her. Something about the awful thick mascara and eyeliner and skinny jeans with tears and an indecipherable band shirt that she hated on other girls just fit Bernie really well. 

Tell Ignatz that she’s gay? A simple thing, but she knew Ignatz well enough to know he would absolutely be killed on the spot with embarrassment, and also he would needle her about her love life, which is to say nothing at all, except her devastating crush on Bernie, and she would not want talk about, because it would definitely get back to Bernie. Simple. There’s no way she would ever like her back, Bernie always talked about this senior, Dorothea, that she had her own crush on, and it would just be… a mess. It was enough to just be two lesbians as friends. No, there’s no way she could ever tell Ignatz she was gay because somehow Annette knew it would ruin her friendship with Bernie.

That didn’t stop her from getting out the small photo album that housed all of Bernie’s photos she sent in her Berniegrams, and sticking the photo in, making sure to hide the half with Ignatz under another photo. That one was of her and Bernie last summer, having a picnic. She could just make out a bare knee at the bottom, because Mercie could never let herself _not_ be in a photo somehow. She looked at them, smiling. Bernie’s mousey brown hair was hanging over one eye, the most she could get away with under her dad’s tyrannical rule, and a small stud hung out of her bottom lip.

Annette wondered what it would be like to kiss her again. She remembered, clearly as if it was yesterday, the awkward kiss they shared at Our Lady’s. They had snuck off from the main prayer group, giggling to each other about how easy it was to get away and go look for cool plants. They both really liked ferns at the time, and they found the biggest one out there, so tall they both fit under it pretty easily while they sat.

Bernie had something really important to say to her, and Annette did as well. They connected easily, and Annette knew that if it went badly, they could easily never see each other again. Bernie had said _I think I might be a girl,_ and Annette had said _I think I might like girls._ They both laughed with each other after. Once it was out, it felt like no big deal. Of course Bernie would accept her, it felt so silly to worry in retrospect. They hugged each other in relief, and then Annie got this idea that she could prove to Bernie that she was okay with Bernadetta and not the other guy.

Annette had kissed Bernadetta. Bernie was a girl, and Annette liked girls. Simple as that. It was weird and hard and kind of unpleasant at the time, but in the years since, she often thought about it. Bernie never mentioned it again, and maybe that was just as well. Just two stupid kids discovering themselves together.

* * *

It had been two years since she last saw Annie in person, but Bernadetta looked forward to their seasonal letters. Over the years, what had once been a steady back and forth had slowed down, much to her dismay. She loved getting letters from Annie, because she was _still_ head over heels for the woman. Every time she tried dating (which is to say, the one month Petra had taken her on a string of pleasant dates that usually ended with some making out before her exchange was up and she left to go home, and the one dance she had with Dorothea before learning about her girlfriend, both unfortunate occurrences) it ended up sucking, because all she really wanted to do was run off and be with Annie.

She was working on her thesis, a series of abstract, intense paintings about being emancipated from her abusive father, when Ignatz walked up behind her. The man was always quiet but Bernie had been rooming with him for enough years to have a sense when he was around.

“Bernie, you have mail, I’ll leave it on your bed. It’s your spring Anniegram,” said Ignatz, “Came in a box. Let me know if you want to have tea with whatever delicious morsels she’s concocted for us this time.”

“Yeah yeah, thanks. I’ll, uhh, get it later,” Bernadetta said, distracted by several things at once. Working on her thesis always got her emotions high, for one, but she wasn’t expecting this one to be a package. Usually her snack drops were a summer and fall thing. The break in routine irritated her. Also, the normal distraction of being interrupted when she was working. “Actually, I think I’ll take a break now. Let me clean up and we can crack it open?”

“Ah, perhaps later. I’ve got to head back to campus to help Claude with some things.”

“Is that what you’re calling it these days?” Bernadetta said flatly.

“Very funny, Bernie. No, he’s doing some theater nonsense and somehow I was roped into it with Raphael. What help am I doing to be with him around?”

Bernie giggled. “Raphael can carry a lot of things but a conversation is not one of them. Ever think maybe your boyfriend just wants to spend time with you?”

“I suppose. Anyway, make sure to save me something. See you tonight,” Ignatz said with a resigned sigh.

Bernie finally turned to look at Ignatz, sick of seeing her own work. “See if they want to do a game night soon. Maybe we all have the snacks then! We could all use a break.”

“Very well. I must be going,” he said, and then disappeared behind the corner.

After cleaning up the paints and oils, Bernadetta took a quick shower. She hated to smell like work when she wasn’t working, both her school work and her weekend job at the florist. The smell of oil and thinner came with the apartment since it housed two art students who worked with them, but she wanted to keep her room as free of it as possible.

On her bed, amid the comfy mess of plushes she slept surrounded by, was a large box, larger than Annie’s one that would contain a tin of cookies or chocolates. Either there was a _lot_ of snacks in there, or it wasn’t a snack box. She got out her storage box that housed all of her Anniegrams (a silly name she picked up after learning Annie had called her own mail Berniegrams) and prepared herself to open the package. Whatever it was, it wasn’t heavy.

On the package, Annie had crudely drawn purple pansies like always. It was a personal touch, but one she hadn’t forgotten in all these years.

> _Dear Miss Bernadetta Varley,_
> 
> _I’m sorry I haven’t been able to call or come see you in some time as my work for university has been incredibly heavy, but I always take the time to sit and pen these messages since I can fit it a lot easier than finding a time when we’re both free for a call or, heaven forbid, a free weekend. I would still love to come see you when your thesis is put up for showing. You know I love your art almost as much as I cherish your friendship._
> 
> _You might be wondering what’s in the package. Well, you shall find out later, because I’m sure you’ve gathered that it isn’t a tin of sweets. On an unrelated subject, I do not know if I will be able to continue with the tins of sweets. Believe me, if I could find the time to bake, you know I would._
> 
> _My research into my “science junk,” as you are so fond of calling it, has been very promising. I’ll spare you the details (if only because I spend the rest of my hours dealing with them) but the team might have a paper to publish this year, and it’s sure to be a big hit among the safer gardening crowd. If only you could come and see, you would love what we’re doing._
> 
> _There is something else that is important, that I do not know how to bring up gently. My dad is back. I know! He won’t tell me anything about where he’s been. Mom has been beside herself with anger, but… I don’t know, Bernadetta. It’s been a long time. I used to be so angry, but now, I just want to meet with him. I don’t know what to do._
> 
> _Somehow, it feels like a betrayal of our own friendship, as silly as that sounds. After supporting you through emancipation and with you consoling me when Dad left, it just doesn’t feel right that I’ve the opportunity to patch my relationship with my father, while you’re finally free. Regardless, I would greatly enjoy your thoughts. I’m afraid the speed of Berniegrams may be too slow, so let's talk about this over email?_
> 
> _I’ve been doing a lot of thinking about you lately, actually. I wish so much we didn’t have this distance between us. You mean more to me than I could ever convey in words. Your friendship, Bernie, sometimes feels like the only thing keeping me going. When the stress of university gets to be too much, I still open up the box of Berniegrams and read our old correspondances. I can hear your voice, see your smile, feel your arms around my shoulders. How I look forward to your hugs once again._
> 
> _I miss you dearly, Bernadetta._
> 
> _Always in my heart and mind,_
> 
> _Annie_
> 
> _P.S. Try to call me when you get this? Worth a shot._  
>  _P.P.S. Tell Ignatz I’m sorry that there are no snacks for him to sneak off with._  
>  _P.P.P.S. I don’t think I’ve ever done three of these before. Well, now I have!_

Bernadetta curled herself up into a ball on finishing the letter, trying to hold in any emotion, to savor the bittersweet swell of love for Annie. Even now, apart as they were in time and distance, she could still remember her scent, and it clung faintly to the pretty blue lace-patterned stationery. She wondered if Annie knew that color was the exact same shade of pale blue as her eyes. Bernadetta could never forget the kiss that started this whole mess as children, how calming her blue eyes had been when she came out as a girl to this funny kid that loved weird plants, like the hazy spring morning, calming and vital. Oh, how many nights had she wished she could kiss her once more before life happened. Even their friendship had not survived unscathed with the passage of time, and it hurt Bernadetta to no end.

She had no idea how to think of Annie’s dad being back. She only met him once but couldn’t recall him more than just a vague face and a shock of orange hair. Understandably, Bernadetta had quite a few thoughts about how fathers should interact with their daughters, especially in regards to Annette and herself, spending many of their teenage nights on the phone bitching about them together. But Annie was right, Bernadetta’s story had come to a close, and this was a chance for Annie to get closure of one kind or another.

Having cried herself to a semblance of calm, Bernadetta figured it was time to see what was in the package before she gave a token effort to get a hold of Annie on the phone, before writing her an email. Taking the bubble wrap carefully out (oh, she would have fun popping these later) she found inside was a wide, shallow ceramic planting bowl. It was decorated with alternating purple pansies and sunflowers. Inside was a loose note in Annie’s tight, neat cursive.

> _Plant something in here that reminds you of me._  
>  _With love, Annie_

* * *

It had been six months since the last Berniegram, six months since she dropped out of university, six months since Annette felt any kind of joy. She missed Bernie’s thesis showing and had been so ashamed she hadn’t sent a single letter, and received _two_ since, but not for half a year. She wanted to go chase the woman she loved all these years. She want to just say _fuck it_ and drive over and take her away, just the two of them, wherever. It didn’t matter.

This was not the first time Annette had these thoughts, nor did she suspect it would be the last. She shuffled in the gloom of her shitty apartment she was rapidly running out of money to live in, scared she would have to come crawling to Mercedes to crash until she could find a place and a job. Mercedes was kind to a fault, and she knew she would always be welcome with her, even though she was pregnant and that scumbag Sylvain left her, and she couldn’t do that to her. She _wouldn’t_ do that to her.

Honestly, how bad would it be if she really _did_ just drive halfway across the continent to go see Bernie? She no longer had anything tying her here, not really. Her dad met with her once and she hadn’t seen him since. Her mom wanted nothing to do with her, tired of her shit after dropping out. Mercedes would be better off without her.

Annette shuffled to the kitchen to see if there was something to eat. She couldn’t remember. The days all blended together anyways. Shit, she was out of eggs and butter again. God, what she wouldn’t do to bake something, not like she could afford it.

Maybe making some cookies would do her good. Get her out of the house for once in a number of days that she would probably be ashamed of if she could remember how long it had been. Maybe she’d even write a letter to Bernie at the end, send her some cookies for old times’ sake. Ha, right. Bernie probably wanted nothing to do with her.

After taking a short shower and putting on the freshest clothes she had, which were not very fresh at all, she made her way out of the building, checking her mail, getting ready to dump anything that did not look like a bill in the recycling on the way out. Junk, junk, junk, electric bill, junk, junk…

Berniegram.

There was a Berniegram. That was the third of them Bernie had sent.

No longer caring about having neat envelopes from the urgency, the need to see Bernie’s words, she ripped the top of it off, throwing the envelope and a small stack of bills on the ground completely forgotten.

> Dear Miss Annette Dominic,
> 
> I don’t know what I’ve done wrong, but you won’t tell me.  
>  I can’t do this on my own.  
>  This will be the last Berniegram I send.  
>  I miss you.
> 
> Berniebear
> 
> P.S. I realize I’ve never sent a letter to you without a postscript and I won’t start now.

Oh, no no _no._ Bernie had no idea that Annette was the one in the wrong. She pulled out her cell and tried calling Bernie, but it just went to mail. _You’ve reached Bernadetta Varley. Leave a messa_ —

“It’s Annie, I’m so sorry, it’s not you, okay?” Annette said, desperately hoping she was able to be heard through her sobs, “I’m coming right now. I’m coming for you. I’ll be there in two days. I promise. Please, I miss you too, Berniebear, I’m coming okay?”

Annette hung up and fell to her knees. It was at least an hour until she could pick herself up off the ground, and by sunset she had packed a suitcase with enough clothes that it probably had enough, her box of Berniegrams, and her cell and charger and wallet in her purse, and she left for Bernie.

* * *

Shuffling around the back area of the florist shop where she had somehow been promoted to manager, worry gnawed at Bernadetta’s stomach. She had cleaned the floor at least three times already, and she knew she was going to keep doing it, but felt powerless to stop. If she stopped cleaning, she would start thinking about Annie and the voicemail and how it had been four days since she got it, and had not heard from her since, thinking about what she would have to do if Annie didn’t turn up by tomorrow.

She ended up sending the staff home early and closing the shop at noon, because she couldn’t take the stress. Bernadetta wanted to go home, which was fortunately just above the shop. She needed to get inside her cave and scream and do literally anything at all to distract herself from the growing certainty that something horrible happened to Annie.

As she crested the stairs, Bernadetta saw her. She looked… awful. Her orange hair was slick with grease, skin pale and blotchy as if she had been crying recently, clothes disheveled like she had slept in them. Her heart raced in relief. She was leaning against her apartment door, fast asleep.

Bernadetta got down on her knees and gently nudged Annie’s shoulder. It took a few tries before she could get Annie to stir.

“Hey there, pen pal. Decide to finally show up?” Bernadetta said, the relief of seeing Annie leaving her with a wide grin.

“BERNIE!” Annie sobbed as she tackled Bernadetta to the ground.

“Woah, woah, I’m glad to see you too. You, um, wanna get in? You could… use a shower.”

“I could really fucking use a shower. Did you know there are _four_ Bernadetta Varleys in this city? And of course I chose here for last. I’m so sorry.”

“I’m just glad you’re okay. There, up you go,” Bernadetta grunted with effort as she pulled Annie up.

Once Bernadetta could get Annie out of a hug half an hour later, she started the kettle and got out some tea. She could hear Annie humming in her shower. She sent a text to a _very_ worried Mercedes that Annie was safe with her, and rummaged through Annie’s suitcase for some clothes. On top of the pile, there was an envelope addressed to _Bernie._ More than a little worried about Annie’s mental state, she pulled a half finished letter out of it.

> _Dear Miss Bernadetta Varley,_
> 
> _I don’t even know if I’m going to be able to give you this letter. I’m in a hotel in a mountain pass and it’s really fucking cold because the stupid heater won’t work and I just wish I could be there already. I haven’t written you a letter in so long._
> 
> _I have no idea what to write. Ha! We’ve been doing this for like fifteen years or something and I’m finally out of things to say. Maybe it was for the best that we stopped. But I can’t stop. I don’t want to cut you out of my life like that._
> 
> _I was wrong. I was always wrong. I got so burned out with my doctorate program that I had a nervous breakdown and I haven’t been to a class in six months. I just found out they cut my scholarship and I’ve been wasting away. I think about you every day. I fucked up so bad, Bernie. I wish I could go back and slap myself._
> 
> _I hope when you read this that I have the coura_

The letter ended abruptly in the middle of a word, her normally neat, tight cursive degrading into a barely legible mess near the end. She wondered if Annie had fallen asleep writing it.

“Oh, you’ve seen it. I, um, wanted to finish it.” Annie said from behind her before she pressed herself in a hug from behind Bernadetta.

“Annie, you’re… wet.”

“Drying off with my Berniebear.”

“I’m not a towel!”

“You’re warm and soft.”

“Well, you got me there. I rather like being warm and soft.”

Bernadetta smiled. It was like they were kids again, like they were on that picnic that Mercedes drove them out to a lake for, how she almost kissed her again, giving into the impulse, throwing back and forth jokes and insults like the worst thing they had to worry about for the next year was a calculus test.

Face rapidly heating up, Bernadetta asked, “Hey, Annie? You, um, aren’t wearing anything, are you?”

“Mm,” Annie hummed into her shoulders.

“Could I ask, um, why?”

Annie giggled. “You’re standing in front of my clothes, silly.”

“ _Oh._ Oh, well then, I’ll, um, leave you to it, um, yeah.”

* * *

It had been three months since she moved in with Bernie. She had landed Annette a job with the florist shop she worked, as a horticulture consultant. Her years of working with plants professionally, specifically with annual longevity and harmless pest deterrents, actually helped. She still slept on the couch most nights, but sometimes she and Bernie would fall asleep in her bed, watching some documentary about exotic plants where she would nitpick about all the scaremongering and sensational delivery. It was a morning like one of those where she found herself curled up next to Bernie, arms wrapped in a death grip around her waist.

Bernie, like always, never seemed to mind. When they were young, Annette tried her best to be physically affectionate but with all her trauma with her dad, she never forced Bernie into a hug. It warmed her heart to see how much better she was with touching, because Annette had always been a big toucher. Sometimes she blamed Mercedes, but she knew that she had deep seated abandonment issues that she worked through with touching.

“Good morning, Annie.” Bernie said. She placed a soft kiss on the crown of Annette’s head.

“I’m not awake,” Annette said. She renewed her grip and nuzzled her cheek into Bernie’s chubby belly hard enough to feel the ribs.

“Oof! Lemme go, I gotta pee.”

“Fine, but more cuddling after?”

“We’ve got the day off, sure.”

Annette sighed and let her best friend go. The draft that filled the space where Bernie was left her cold and she replaced Bernie with her pillow, burying her nose in it like she wished she could the real thing. This is the closest she could ever get as a friend, just morning cuddles, now that it seemed Bernie was as touch starved as Annette had felt since entering university. Maybe it was selfish, but she refused to break this. For the first time since maybe she was a young teen, spending lazy summer days with Bernie and Mercie, Annette was content. She was around the woman she was desperately in love with, even if she could never get closer, this was enough. It had to be, there wouldn’t be someone like Bernadetta again.

Bernie came back and stretched before climbing back in bed. “Hey, Annie, you awake yet?”

“Are you going to make breakfast?”

“That, um, might be a good idea. We can eat in bed! I wanna cuddle more too, but I’m hungry.”

“Then no, I’m not awake, but I will be when you come back with some eggs and toast? Oh, and a glass of apple juice,” Annette offered hopefully.

“You got it. Bernie’s on the case,” she said, popping back out of bed, before continuing, “I know it’s been a while since you moved in but, um, I kinda wanted to do this so, um. Here’s a letter. You can read it while I’m making breakfast. Okay, I’ll just… go do that.”

Bernie retrieved a letter from her bed stand and nearly threw it at Annette before she skittered off. She knew that behavior came when she felt cornered, but Bernie had a huge, dumb smile on her face. Annette thought she looked beautiful like that, happy and flustered, giving her a letter like she was a teen giving her crush a love letter before running away.

> Dear Miss Annette Dominic,
> 
> I wrote this letter about a week after you moved in, so depending on when I give this to you, or even if I ever do (though I suppose you won’t know if I don’t give it to you, huh). So, with that information, you know how long it’s been. My guess is six months before I muster up the courage to hand it to you. I don’t know if you’ll even be here, but I hope you are. This past week has been so eye opening. I’m glad we’re finally together… Ha! That’s a bad joke. Or maybe a good joke, depending on how you take this.
> 
> You know I’m not always the best with my words in the moment, which is why I’ve chosen to write it down. Again, I don’t know when you’ll see this, or if this will just be an exercise in venting my feelings. That’s for future Berniebear to worry about. Right now, I’m just stalling. Which is kind of strange since I am not, like, constrained by time in a letter. But I am definitely stalling. Okay, so, here it is.
> 
> I love you, Annette. I’ve loved you since I met you, I think, but it took me a long time to understand that. You’re, like, my best friend, and I was so terrified I lost you, but you’re here again. You’re here with me, and I’ve never felt more complete with you nearby.
> 
> I understand if this makes things weird between us, but I’m giving future Berniebear a _big_ out in that she’s the one to worry about this. Hopefully she gives this to you when she thinks this won’t ruin our friendship.
> 
> All my love,
> 
> Your Berniebear
> 
> P.S. Thank you for being my friend.

* * *

Bernadetta felt like she just made the biggest mistake of her life, now that she was pouring the apple juice into Annie’s favorite cup, but she knew it was the right time. It had been the right time for a month. Present-Bernadetta cursed past-Bernadetta for the stress she put herself under. The tipping point had been walking back into her bed, Annie nestled among her plushies, face buried in her pillow like she had always belonged there.

Bernadetta handled the tray of their breakfast with as steady hands as she could manage, which was not. The folks and knives clattered, and she almost spilled Annie’s juice. So much for making a smooth entrance. She closed her eyes. Now was the moment of truth. This was it. There was no going back.

Because she wasn’t going forward, fuck, it was so hard to move move.

“Bernie, are you okay?”

“Um. Yes. Yes, I’m okay, I’m just, um…”

“If it would help, I’ve just wrote you a letter. It’s nothing fancy, but I would love if you could read it while we eat breakfast. I’ll turn on that one documentary about corpse plants you love.”

Oh god, oh _god_ Annie was going to let her down easy. That had to be what this was. There was no other option. “Stick a fork in her, Bernie’s done,” she mumbled to herself, finally crossing the threshold to her bedroom.

The TV was indeed on her favorite documentary about the corpse plant. Annie was very flushed but otherwise acted very normal. She had the envelope next to her, and it was opened, oh _god_ the envelope was opened and Annie had read it. Bernadetta set the tray down between them and crawled into bed.

Annie handed her the envelope. “My letter’s on the bottom of that. You can read it when you’re ready.”

Bernadetta honestly did try to eat breakfast, but the most she managed was to eat half a piece of toast and a sip of water. She kept nervously glancing between Annie and the envelope. Annie kept her face neutral and focused on the documentary, taking small, quick bites like she was some kind of rodent. The envelope kept its face neutral and focused on the ceiling, because it was an envelope and trying to think about it like a person was just Bernadetta putting off the inevitable.

Grimacing, Bernadetta picked up the envelope. For the first time since she started eating, Annie broke eye contact with the TV, looking at Annie with some kind of expression Bernie had no idea how to read.

“Okay, here I go,” Bernadetta whispered, and turned over the envelope.

> _Dear Miss Bernadetta Varley,_
> 
> _I love you. I’ve always loved you. When you look at me, I’m going to kiss you, because I’ve wanted to do that for years._
> 
> _Look at me,_
> 
> _Annie_
> 
> _P.S. You’ve got a cute butt. I’ve wanted to say that for years too._

Bernadetta closed her eyes as it sunk in. She almost turned towards Annie like that, eyes closed, but forced them open, because she knew that if she didn’t then it would be ruined. Or something like that.

Bernadetta started to turn her head and almost as soon as she started, Annie grabbed her cheek and pulled her across the tray. Annie’s lips were warm and chapped and firm. The kiss was weird and hard and kind of unpleasant, just like their first one, but that was only before Bernadetta let herself relax into it, and everything felt right. Kissing Annie was like taking her first breath in years.

“So, um, was that okay?” Annie asked against her lips, her shallow breath tickling her nose and cheeks, “Can we keep going?”

Instead of responding, Bernadetta kissed her back, with more heat, tasting the eggs and apple on her lips. She pulled Annie’s hands slowly off her cheeks and held them in her own. Bernadetta felt so right. There was never going to be anyone _but_ Annie, and there never will be. As she kissed Annette, Bernadetta started thinking about what her next letter might be.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to [calciferian](https://www.twitter.com/calciferian) for the idea!! I had a _lot_ of fun writing this.
> 
> You can find me on [Twitter](https://www.twitter.com/moonsmoocher), where I am gay.


End file.
